


De Kleintje

by Trash_Baby



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 22:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12467068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash_Baby/pseuds/Trash_Baby
Summary: "You are stupid." He spits, a scowl twisting up his pretty face.Sniffing, you cross your arms over your chest and scowl right back. "And you are mean.""You cannot insult me! Don't you know who I am?!" He shouts, blue eyes dark with anger, but you simply shrug."I don't care who you are." You snap, dropping your arms to your sides, your hands balling into tiny fists. "I did not have to save you!"Wherein the reader meets Ivar when they are young and they develop a friendship over the years.





	1. Chapter 1

Your parents moved to the town of Kattegat a couple of years after the legendary King Ragnar Lothbrok had disappeared, leaving behind Queen Aslaug to rule. Your father had attended a raid with the King some years before his disappearance, and had heard of the town starting to flourish with trade, and so you had left your small village to start a new life. 

Being the only daughter and youngest child to your parents, they were overprotective of you, however your constant fighting with your five older brothers gave you the experience to deal with other people, which was how you first came to meet Ivar. 

Your parents and two oldest brothers had sent you and your three youngest brothers - Einar, Geir, and Stigr - out to explore the town and play whilst they set up the belongings from your old home in the new hut you had moved into. Seven, nine, and ten, your brothers proposed that they should play hide and go seek, leaving a four-year old you to stumble over numbers whilst they ran off to hide. 

Running off into the crowd in search of your brothers, you busied yourself with looking under stalls and behind buildings, even going so far as to peek into huts, but to no avail could you find your siblings. Frustrated, you stomped through the town, mud splashing up as your little leather boots slapped the ground, only to perk up when you overhear the familiar shouts of your brothers. 

Picking up your pace, you darted off in the direction of their voices, eager to find them so that you could take your time to hide. Your triumphant grin falls though when you see the three of them circling a cart, jeering and taunting the young boy sat inside. They were laughing and pointing, reminding you of the time that you had fallen over in the mud, and an anger washes over your tiny frame. 

"No! Leave him alone!" You yell, young voice shrill. 

Scooping up a muddy stone, you pull your arm back before launching it forward. The rock strikes Stigr's shoulder, and he yelps before spinning around to scowl at you. "Go away, Y/N! We don't want to play with you!"

"And I don't want to play with you!" You snap back, bending down to grab another rock. This time, the rock hits the side of the cart, bouncing off to land at your brother's foot, and he laughs at you before picking it up and throwing it back. The pebble hits your temple, the force splitting the thin skin, and a trickle of blood makes its way down the side of your face. Tears well up in your eyes at the sting of pain, but you hold them back. "Go away, Stigr! I'll tell mother what you did! Father will punish you!"

"Shut up!" He hisses at you, and like any other stubborn for-year-old, you poke your tongue out at him.

"No! Go away!" You throw back, before a devious grin lights up your bloodied face. "If you don't leave, then I'll tell mother and father that you hurt me! But if you go, then I will tell them that I fell over."

Your brothers gather together, and Einar, the youngest, glanced nervously between you and the others. The prospect of punishment scared him, and he knew from experience that your parents were inclined to listen to you. "Maybe we should..." 

Geir huffs, picking up the first stone that you had thrown, and chucks it at you. It strikes your lip and tooth, and you cry out when blood wells in your mouth. Your tooth breaks on impact, and you spit out the tiny shard alongside a mouthful of red spittle before glaring up at your brothers and charging at them. The three of them scatter, disappearing in different directions, and you shout, an angry shriek of pain and anger, before stuttering to a halt in front of the boy in the cart.

Too young to feel embarrassed at your actions, you lift the hem of your long dress to wipe at your bloodied lip before dropping the fabric to study the boy. He looked to be your age, perhaps a year or two older than you, and he was staring at you curiously with a tilted head. "Are you okay?" You ask, your own head tilting to the side in question. 

Instead of responding to your question of concern, he sniffs and straightens up in the cart.

"You are stupid." He spits, a scowl twisting up his pretty face. 

Sniffing, you cross your arms over your chest and scowl right back. "And you are mean."

"You cannot insult me! Don't you know who I am?!" He shouts, blue eyes dark with anger, but you simply shrug.

"I don't care who you are." You snap, dropping your arms to your sides, your hands balling into tiny fists. "I did not have to save you!"

"I don't need saving!" He screams, eyes blazing, and your bottom lip wobbles as your tears once again returns. "See, you are crying! You are stupid!"

Another boy runs up to the cart, about the same age as Stigr, and looks curiously between you and the boy. "Ivar, what happened?!"

"Nothing." He growls, still glaring at you, and your emotions switch once again, your anger returning. 

"You are a liar!" You shout, and the new boy stares at you with wide eyes, the same shade of blue as the angry boy in the cart. "You're as mean as my brothers! I did not need to save you from them! They hurt me and you did not even say thank you!"

The standing boy takes in the shock on Ivar's face and the blood on yours. "Ivar, say thank you," He coaxes, his hand reaching out to rest on Ivar's shoulder. "It was very nice of her to stand up to her brothers for you, especially when they hurt her." 

"I do not care." He mutters, but his anger has melted away to a petulant frown.

The older boy sighs, frowning down at Ivar before turning back to you. "I am Ubbe, and this is my brother, Ivar. What is your name?"

"Y-Y/N." 

"Thank you for helping my brother, Y/N," Ubbe said, and you return his grateful smile. "Will you come back with us so that my mother can clean your wounds?"

Nodding hesitantly, your fingers twist into the skirt of your dress, watching as Ubbe grabs the handle of the cart and pulls it off in the direction he came. Trailing after them, you fail to notice the way people glance at you and the two boys, instead focusing on the back of Ivar's head and turning your head away sharply when he looks over his shoulder to glare at you. 

Before long, the three of you come to a stop in front of the great hall, and a tall woman comes out, her elvish face severe as she regards Ubbe before softening at the sight of Ivar. "Boys, are you playing nicely?"

"Mother, this is Y/N," Ubbe says, gesturing to where you stood several steps away from the brothers. "She helped fight off some boys who were taunting Ivar, but they hurt her."

"Are you alright?" She asks you, reaching out and gesturing for you to come closer. "Come, let me clean your cuts, it's the least I can do for you helping my dear Ivar."

Said boy huffs, and as his mother reaches down, he snaps, "I do not need your help! I do not need to be carried like a _baby!_ "

Ubbe studies his brother with wide eyes and raised brows, but you only watch curiously as he wrestles out of the cart with a grunt and lands on his front before lifting himself up on his forearms. With one last defiant glare at you, he starts to crawl into the hall, legs dragging behind him, and you watch with wide eyes before turning to Ubbe. Suddenly shy with their mother present, you tug on his sleeve, and when he leans down to your height, you whisper into his ear, "Is Ivar okay? Did my brothers do that to him?"

Ubbe laughs, shaking his head. "No, Ivar was born like that. Your brothers did not hurt him, I do not think."

"Good, because I'll throw stones at them again if they do!" 

Again, he laughs, the fierce determination a funny combination with your baby-round cheeks, though admiration gleams in his eyes at the loyalty you had declared for his youngest brother, despite Ivar's cruelty towards you and the fact that you had stood up to your own brothers. "Come, we have to clean your cuts."

Staying close to Ubbe's side, you enter the great hall with him, finding Ivar sat in a chair and two boys playing together several feet away from him. Ivar scowls when he sees you beside his brother, and you look about uncertainly. "Come here." He demands, stabbing a finger at the space beside him on the chair, and you glance up at Ubbe who nods encouragingly. You skitter forwards, feet tapping the wooden floor, and struggle to pull yourself up on the high chair, grunting as you wrestle with your dress. 

Finally, you settle into the seat beside Ivar with a sigh, and you glance at him for some form of approval, perhaps a nod or smile, but he simply glowers. "Are you okay now?" You decide to ask, eyes earnest. 

"Shut up." He snaps, and you sniff in frustration, your arms once again coming up to cross over your chest.

"Stop being mean," You scold, turning away to find Ubbe with the other two boys, all three of them staring at you and Ivar. "I'm going to sit with Ubbe."

" _No!_ " Ivar hisses, grabbing your arms in a biting grip that makes you whimper. 

"Let go of me! That hurts!" He lets go immediately when you shout, and you lean away from him. "You are mean like my brothers."

"Ivar is mean to everyone." A new voice claims, and you look over to find a boy who looks to be only a little older than Ivar staring at you. "It's because he's a cripple."

"I don't know what that is," You admit, before tilting your head back. "And I don't care either, but that sounded mean, so you are mean too."

The boy stares at you, mouth hanging open, and Ivar laughs at him. "See, brother, we are not that different. We are both  _mean_." 

"Brother?" You echo, looking between them curiously, and Ubbe nods.

"Yes, that is Sigurd, and this is Hvitserk. Our mother is Queen Aslaug and our father is King Ragnar Lothbrok." His chest puffs with pride, as he introduces his family. 

"We are princes," Ivar adds, and when you turn to look at him, he is grinning at you. "And that is why you cannot insult me."

Huffing, you throw yourself back in the chair. "I don't care. Ubbe, my mouth hurts." Before he can respond, Ivar tugs on your shoulder and forces you to turn. Grabbing your chin with both hands, Ivar inspects your face, and you frown, struggling to pull away. "What are you doing?"

"You broke your tooth." he says simply, and you reach up to touch it at the same time that Hvitserk says,

"You should kiss it better, Ivar!"

"Shut up, Hvitserk!" He screams, hands scrabbling to find something to throw, and without thought, you throw your arms around him and cling as tight as possible.

"Stop! Stop fighting!" You yell sharply, before pulling away. "I do not want anybody to kiss me!"

Aslaug comes back at that moment, eyebrows raised in amusement. "Is everything okay, little Y/N?" She asks, her eyes darting between her sons before remaining on you and Ivar. 

Nodding softly, you reach up and push your hair back with both hands, jumping when you touch the cut on your temple. "Ow," You whisper, the pain beginning to register. "It hurts."

"I will do it." Ivar insists when his mother stops in front of you, and he reaches out impatiently to the bowl in Aslaug's hands. Taking the rag, he wrings the water from it before taking your chin in one hand again and turning your face to him. He presses the rough cloth to your tender temple, and you yelp, jerking away from the pressure, but his grip on your chin only tightens as he frowns in concentration, lifting the rag away to dab at the wound instead. 

He cleans the blood away, and then dips the rag in the water before wiping at your lip. Finally, he drops the bloody cloth back into the bowl and lets go of your face, turning away as if nothing had happened. "They broke her tooth." He grumbles, and Aslaug's eyes widen.

"Who broke her tooth?" She asks softly, setting the bowl down on the floor to reach out, placing one hand on Ivar's cheek and the other on yours. 

"Her brothers." 

"It is okay," You say, eyes ardent and jaw set. "They were being mean to Ivar, but I threw stones at them and made them go away."

"And then they threw the stones back at you and hurt you!" Ivar snaps, and you jump. "When I see them next I will throw stones until they bleed."

Aslaug laughs softly, taken aback by the sudden protective streak that had emerged within her youngest son, and she caresses his cheek before standing up. "Be careful, Ivar."

"I have to go now, my mother thinks I am playing with my brothers." You say, wriggling off the edge of the seat, and as your feet make contact with the floor, Ivar's hand snatches yours, holding you in place.

"Come back tomorrow." He demands, and you only nod when his grip tightens. 

"Okay," You whisper, and he stares at you before throwing your hand and turning to look away. Feet pattering on the worn wood, you turn back when you reach the door and wave. "Bye!"


	2. Chapter 2

When you arrived back at your new hut, you found all your brothers to be there, and Einar, Geir, and Stigr wear matching expressions of guilt when they take in the cut on your temple and bruised lip. 

"Mother, mother! I think I have made a friend!" You had shouted excitedly, only for your mother to gasp in horror.

"What happened to your tooth?!" She had cried, and you let out a soft ' _oh_ ' before telling her that you had fallen and broke it on a stone.

"But I made a friend!" You shouted again, "His name is Ubbe, he is very nice. He helped me and took me to his home. He's a prince! And I think I am friends with his brother, Ivar, too, but he is mean so maybe we are not friends just yet."

Your parents and oldest brothers, Herleif and Kjell, listen to your excited babbling with raised brows, and at the mention of a royal title, they perk up. "Princes?" Your father asks, and you nod. "They are Ragnarssons?"

"Yes, that is what Ubbe said," You confirm, nodding seriously. "I told them that I didn't care." Your mother gasped, but your father simply chuckled, shaking his head to himself. "Ivar wants me to play with him tomorrow."

 

The next morning, your mother washes and dresses you in a pretty blue dress that she had spent the night embroidering. White flowers decorated the neckline, and she took the time to comb your hair and braid some strands to pull back from your face instead of letting your hair free like she usually let you do. Your father watches with amusement as your mother tucks flowers into your hair, and when she finally lets you leave, she calls out after you to avoid the mud.

 When you reach the great hall, you find a tall man stood outside with Ubbe by his side. He turns when you call his name, and he smiles down at you. "Hello, Y/N. Is your mouth okay now?"

You grin up at him, revealing the tooth that had all but been broken in half. "It is okay. I did not need a kiss to make it better like Hvitserk said." Your nose wrinkles at the memory, and Ubbe laughs at your expression.

"This is my half-brother, Bjorn." He introduces, gesturing to the man, who crouches down and smiles at you.

"Hello, Y/N. Ubbe tells me that you saved Ivar yesterday. That was very brave of you." 

"Hm, it was okay. Ivar said I didn't save him, but I helped him." You shrug the compliment off, and Bjorn chuckles softly at your manner. "Is Ivar inside?"

Bjorn raises his brows in question, glancing at Ubbe. Ubbe nods at you, stepping to the side and gesturing to the half-open door for you to enter. You slip past him and into the hall, immediately catching sight of Ivar as he sat in the same chair as yesterday. He scowls when he sees you, but you ignore his expression and skip closer, smiling up at him when you stop in front of the chair.

"Hello, Ivar."

"You're late!" He snaps, and you blink.

"I had to be careful not to get my dress dirty, my mother told me." You explain, frowning up at him, and he sighs shortly.

"Whatever. Come and sit." 

Once again, you find yourself sat next to the youngest Ragnarsson, and he reaches up to touch one of the flowers threaded through a braid. "Do you like it?" You ask, head tilting in curiosity. Your mother had told you this morning that you must look pretty if you were to be playing with the princes, and you remembered frowning in confusion, trying to figure out why such a thing would matter.

Ivar's face scrunches up, and he snatches the flower from your hair and drops in onto the chair next to him. "Why would I like it? I don't like you."

"And I don't like you!" You shout back, your arms finding their designated place across your chest. "I don't want to play with you."

"I don't care."

 

Much of your time 'playing' with Ivar consisted of similar interactions, and yet you returned to the young prince each day, partly at his request, but also because of the insistence of your mother. Each day, she would weave flowers into your braids and take the time to stitch things onto your dresses. You didn't understand, and it frustrated you when she told you not to get dirty because you wanted to wanted to play with the other children of Kattegat, but you listened because she was your mother and , over time, Ivar grew to be your friend, his company no longer unwanted. 

The time you spent with Ivar extended past simply sitting beside him in the great hall, and you eventually found yourself accompanying him when he was with his brothers, and then even during his mentoring sessions with Floki. When you were with his brothers, you would play with all of them, though your focus was taken more by Ubbe and Ivar than Hvitserk and Sigurd, who would often tease Ivar, who you would then defend fiercely in turn. When you attended his sessions with Floki, you would sit by his side quietly, watching Floki as he explained runes and told tales of the Gods, always curious about both the Gods and why Floki always looked at you with such sad eyes.

When you gathered enough courage to ask him, he had told you that you reminded him of his dear sweet Angrboda. You didn't understand properly, couldn't understand why he was so sad that his daughter was in Valhalla when the tales he spoke of the realm were always so happy, but you had patted his cheek and wrapped your arms around his neck before pulling away. "It is okay," You had told him, smiling sweetly, "You will see her again soon."

After that, Floki extended his mentoring to you too, teaching you both equally. The more you learnt, the closer you and Ivar became, though his attitude to you was still as quick to change as the snap of a whip, something which rubbed off on you soon enough, your emotions often morphing to whatever the other was feeling.

By the time you were eight and Ivar nine, the pair of you were practically inseparable. His insults were far and few between, and he rarely picked at your hair and clothing. When you were with his brothers, he would demand that you sat by his side, something that you didn't mind all that much. You were a frequent guest at the Ragnarsson's table when there were feasts, and your closeness with each family member allowed you to bicker alongside the brothers, always faithfully defending Ivar when Sigurd would make a comment. 

Aslaug seemed to have taken you under her wing as a daughter, and would often let you weave with her, which you didn't mind, but for you it was no fun. Instead, you preferred to go out with the brothers, out into the clearing in the forest where they would practice with old weapons and teach you how to use them. Most of them were too big for the brothers, and so they were most definitely too big for you to use, though that didn't stop you from trying. 

By thirteen, you had grown enough to be able to handle the weapons, and your continuous practice allowed you to build your strength. Whilst you relied on the other brothers for footwork when fighting with swords and hatchets, you learnt from Ivar how to use a bow, and would often form strategies and tactics together. The formidable strength that Ivar's upper body possessed made fighting with him hard, but he would always push you to do so. 

"You are still as mean as ever." You hiss, scowling when he knocks the sword from your hands to rest his own blade against your throat. He merely smirks at you, and you reach up to push the weapon away with a light shove. 

"And you are still stupid," He snaps back. "I have told you a hundred times before how easily I can knock your weapon away."

"Not everyone has the strength of a fucking beast, Ivar!" Ubbe raises his brows at your shout, a smirk of amusement taking over his features as he recognized his brother's barely concealed embarrassment. Meanwhile Sigurd and Hvetsirk laugh, howling at your profanity and at telling their youngest brother off, leaving Ivar's lip to curl with a snarl. "Gods, you are so _infuriating_ sometimes!"

"Only sometimes?" Sigurd asks, taking a step closer to you, and your expression mimics Ivar's.

"Yes, only sometimes. You are  _always_ infuriating, dear Sigurd." You say sweetly, and then it is Ivar's turn to laugh. His laughter soon comes to a choking halt though when you reach up and untie the leather strap that held back your hair, and you run your fingers through the strands a few times before wrapping the strap around your wrist. "I must go back now, mother expects me to be doing 'womanly' things."

"I am sure Ivar would not mind you doing 'womanly' things here." Sigurd suggests, and Hvitserk chuckles uneasily. Your nose curls up at his suggestion, and you fold your arms over your chest in annoyance, before dropping them once again to your sides when you're reminded of your changing body. 

"And I am sure that I would not mind breaking your nose." You all but growl, taking a threatening step towards him, only for a hatchet to sail through the air and bury itself in the tree behind Sigurd, just barely missing his head. With a sigh, you glance back at Ivar. "You missed."

"I never miss."

Your eyes hold Ivar's for a heartbeat before you tear away, turning your back on the four brothers to disappear into the forest and back to Kattegat.

 

"Oh, Ivar, you have got it  _so bad_." Hvetsirk crows when you were out of sight and hearing. Ubbe chuckled lightly, shaking his head as Ivar only glowered.

"I have not got  _anything_." 

"Ivar," Ubbe begins, sitting down a few feet away, "There is nothing wrong with liking Y/N. You have known her for a long time, and she is a nice girl. You should tell her that you like her."

"I don't like her!" He snaps, jaw clenching so hard that he could hear his own teeth grinding and groaning under the pressure.

"Well then you won't mind me-"  

" _Shut u_ _p, Sigurd!_ " Ivar roars, slamming his fist against his thigh. "Just shut up! No one wants to hear what you have to say!"

Lifting his hands up in surrender, Sigurd drops to the ground beside Ubbe, who shoots him a warning glare. Hvitserk yanks the hatchet from the tree, then thinks better of giving it back to Ivar and instead drops it to the ground beside Ubbe. 

"I think, little brother," Ubbe begins, always the voice of reason, "That perhaps you should let your feelings be known to her. We are not the only ones in Kattegat who have our eyes on Y/N. Others have noticed her too."


End file.
